


with a bang

by impsy



Category: Jericho (US 2006), Supernatural
Genre: Apocalypse, Depressing, M/M, Nuclear Winter, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-26
Packaged: 2017-12-08 11:55:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/761037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impsy/pseuds/impsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neither the Winchesters or Castiel ever thought the world would end like this. (Nuclear apocalypse AU, slight "Jericho" crossover.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> First things first - seeing Jericho is not necessary to read this fic. All you need to know is that there's a nuclear apocalypse and that Richard Speight Jr plays a character on it (which, to be honest, is the main reason I decided to write this fic). 
> 
> Set in a vague post-s7 time where Bobby is alive and Cas is still an angel, but no real spoilers and written before s8. 
> 
> I wrote this a while ago for a 30 day writing challenge on tumblr, cleaned up and put in chronological order to post here. Hope you enjoy.

Dean would never have guessed that this would be the way the world ended.

The fire, the panic, a death toll probably well into the millions - that stuff, sure. Dean figures that's pretty much standard with any apocalypse, whether it's caused by angels or demons or whatever insane thing had a grudge against them this time.

To be honest, a nuclear apocalypse just seems kind of... mundane.

They're leaning against the car, soaking up the Texas heat and trying to figure out what the hell to do next when he voices this thought aloud. Sam gives him a dirty look, but Cas, miracle of miracles, actually agrees with him.

"I always believed it would be my brothers that brought about the end of days. This..." He shakes his head, turns away. "I doubt even Zachariah would have thought humanity capable of something like this."

He tries to catch Cas's eyes, but his friend just stares out toward the horizon, his shoulders slumped. The sun is setting, painting the desert landscape in beautiful reds and golds, and the sparse vegetation casts long shadows toward them. There are towns out there, Dean knows. Towns full of people who are starting to realize just how hopeless things are. There will be riots over food, gas, medicine, supplies. There will be people who starve and people who are killed for a scrap of food or the clothes on their back or because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

And the thing that gets Dean worst of all is that he knows that there is absolutely nothing he can do to help. How can he, when he just knows fighting and monsters? How can he possibly save anybody when _this_ is all the world is, will ever be?

He can't help wondering if things could possibly get any worse. "Now that we're all distracted and helpless, you think your old buddies are gonna try to destroy the world again?" Dean asks.

Cas doesn't look at him, just curls in on himself a little further. "There's nothing left to destroy," he says, and despite the heat, Dean can't stop himself from shivering.


	2. Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the way the world ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place a few hours before the prologue, which I should probably cut but I like it.

It wasn't until five hours after the bombs went off that they learned the world as they knew it was over.

He, Sam, and Cas were investigating a perfectly average case in a perfectly average little town called, of all things, Canadian, Texas. Or that's where they'd been staying, at least. The actual case had seemed simple enough - people had been disappearing outside of town in a "wildlife management area," which Dean had quickly learned was a prime hunting area outside of town.

Turned out to be a case of accidental murder, body buried in an unmarked grave, ghost hanging around killing other hunters and hoping to grab the guy who'd killed him in the first place. Pretty standard stuff. Of _course_ the killer himself was found at the local bar, of _course_  he'd turned into a bit of an alcoholic since accidentally shooting his friend in the back with a shotgun, of _course_  they'd been able to get the guy to confess with a little arm twisting.

Dean had thought it'd be pretty cut and dry after that, but the murderer's instructions that he'd buried the man "under a real janky-looking tree, there was a kind of boulder near it and I carved a little cross into the tree" had been a little less than helpful.

Hours after arriving at the hunting area, they found themselves still searching by flashlight, tripping over every goddamn rock and bush, getting themselves covered in dirt and soaked in sweat.

"How is it _still_  this freakin' hot out?" Dean grumbles. He wipes at the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand, but only succeeds in getting even more dirt on his face.

"It's Texas, Dean, what'd you expect?" Sam turns his flashlight toward him, shining it right in his face, of course, making Dean swear and cover his eyes.

"Dude, come on!"

He can tell Sam is rolling his eyes, even if he can't see it. "Come on, let's hurry up and find the bones so we can get this over with. I'm ready for a shower."

He snorts. "You got that right. Where'd Cas run off to?"

"I'm here." His voice comes from behind them, and the pair turns to see him approach. Even in the low light, Dean can see that his friend is looking a little worse for wear. The hours of searching in the heat had affected him more than Dean thought they would, as the trenchcoat and suit jacket have come off and are slung over one arm. He's also loosened his tie and rolled up his shirtsleeves, baring pale forearms to the moonlight.

Dean hasn't wanted to mention anything, but it's not hard to tell that Cas's angel powers are slowly fading away again, and he feels a twinge of guilt at dragging him along. _Not like he'd have stayed behind even if we offered,_  he thinks with something that might be pride. _Stubborn son of a bitch._

Cas runs a hand through his messy hair, revealing a sheen of sweat on his brow. "Any luck?"

He sounds hopeful, and Dean feels bad but shakes his head. "Nothing yet. Would've been nice if we'd gotten better directions, but _some_  of us suck at being the bad cop," he adds with a scowl at his brother.

Sam just shrugs, and Dean considers that maybe his death-glare needs some work. "What did you want me to do, Dean, bust out the thumbscrews? The guy could barely remember his own name, much less where he buried somebody ten years ago."

He sighs and points his flashlight back at the ground, starting off toward a decent sized tree fifty yards in the distance that he doesn't _think_  they've looked at yet. "I'm just saying, man-"

"DEAN!"

He's hunted with his brother long enough to know exactly what that tone means, and he drops to the ground just in time to avoid a gust of freezing air - a breeze that would have been nice if it wasn't accompanied by a ghost trying to kill him. He doesn't even think, letting his instincts take over as he grabs his shotgun and rolling onto his back. The hunter's ghost is lunging for him, but he's ready, and even though he can't aim for shit while laying on the ground, the ghost is at point blank range, and he doesn't hesitate before pulling the trigger.

The ghost vanishes with a scream, and Dean lets his head fall back against the ground with a thunk, staring up at the sky for a moment and letting his heartbeat return to a normal speed. Sam's standing above him a moment later, shotgun hanging loosely from one hand and the other outstretched toward him, and he grabs it thankfully and lets his brother help hoist him back to his feet.

Cas is picking up his trenchcoat and jacket from the ground where he'd dropped them to fumble for his shotgun, but his eyes flick up to meet Dean's for a moment. It's a silent question that Dean immediately understands, and he gives him a brief nod before returning his focus to his brother.

"You okay?" Sam asks, brushing some dirt off Dean's shoulders in a pathetic attempt to hide the fact that he's checking for injuries.

He tolerates his concern in the only way he knows how - by ignoring it. "Fine. Let's gank this mother."

Sam barks a laugh, stepping back and grabbing his flashlight. "Couldn't've said it better myself."

It's another forty-five minutes of searching before Cas spots the cross carved into the side of a tree Dean could've sworn they already looked at, ten more after that before the bones are revealed, and one last-ditch effort from the ghost before a perfectly aimed shot from Cas makes the damn thing disappear long enough for them to salt and burn the bones.

"That was _way_  more trouble than it was worth," Dean grumbles as they begin the hike back to the car.

Sam rolls his eyes. "At least it's done. I'm ready to crash, we've been out here for..." He trails off as he fishes his cell phone out of his back pocket, frowning at it. "Huh. Clock's not working. This phone is such a piece of crap."

They're too tired and frustrated by how long the hunt took to talk much on the way back to the car, and Dean wordlessly takes the wheel while Sam grabs the passenger seat and Cas piles his coat and jacket next to him in the back.

The road is dark and quiet as they drive back, and though Dean notices that none of the lights over the highway are working, it's only in passing, and he has no reason to be concerned. It's only when they get back to town and every light there is out too that it even occurs to him that something might be wrong.

"Power must be out in the whole damn county," he mutters, slowing down. There are an awful lot of people outside for - how late is it, anyway? "What time is it, Sammy?" he asks.

But his brother shakes his head, frowning at his phone and at the dark town around them. "Still nothing. Seems kind of late for so many people to be out," he says, echoing Dean's thoughts.

"Something is wrong," Cas says, leaning forward, one hand on the back of each of their seats.

"Yeah, the power's out, Cas, it happens sometimes."

But the angel shakes his head. "Not that. We need to leave. Go to the motel, I'll meet you there."

"What are you-" he begins, glancing back over his shoulder, but Cas is gone. "-doing. Glad he's still got the mojo for that," he mutters, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Gotta love the vague 'something is wrong' disappearing act."

Sam doesn't seem to hear him, and he rolls down his window as they pause at a stop sign near a busy convenience store on main street. A family, laden down with bags, is rushing past, and despite Sam calling out "Hey, is something going on?" in his friendliest voice, they just glance over at him before quickly turning their faces away and hurrying on, heading down the street the way they'd come.

The brothers exchange a look of confusion and a frown, and Dean's hands grip the wheel a little tighter, his foot presses on the gas a little harder, and they speed down the street, turning into the motel parking lot with a squeal of tires.

Cas is waiting for them outside the room, the few belongings they'd left in the room all packed into their duffel bags, which were sitting on the curb beside him.

"What the hell, Cas?" The engine is barely off before Dean's stepping into the parking lot, and he takes long strides toward his friend, getting up in his face before Sam has even opened the car door. "You say something's wrong and hop back here? Wanna give us a little heads up next time?"

"I apologize, but I thought-"

"What if somebody was waiting for us? You'd be flying right into a trap, alone!"

"I can take care of myself, Dean."

"Yeah, except-" Dean bites his tongue when Cas gives him a serious look, the words 'you're falling' going unsaid but still ringing loudly in their ears. "You just gotta be careful, okay?"

"You folks leaving?" The woman who'd checked them in earlier is rushing toward them, rolling a suitcase along behind her that clicked and bounced with every crack in the sidewalk.

Sam glances over at him, and they pause a moment for a wordless exchange. "Guess so. Not quite sure why, but our friend's in a real hurry." Sam jerks his thumb toward Cas, who hoists their bags onto his shoulders and heads for the trunk. "You happen to know what everybody's doing outside?"

The woman gapes at them. "You didn't see?"

"See what?"

She grabs her phone, pressing a few buttons, then hands it to Sam without another word. Dean waits impatiently for an explanation as his brother stares down at the screen, but he's just frozen, not moving a muscle. "Sam?" No reply. He sighs. "Gimme that."

He grabs Sam's hand and yanks it toward him, looking down to examine it with a frown.

"Is that..."

"Yeah." Sam says, though it takes him a second to find his voice.

Dean's not sure what he was expecting, but a photo of a mushroom cloud in the distance was certainly not it.

"Where is this?" Dean asks, pointing at the screen. "What the hell happened?!"

"I don't know!" she says, her eyes wide as she takes an involuntary step back. "I don't- Nobody knows! We think- We think it might be over Dallas."

"When was this?"

"Maybe... three hours ago?"

"Who did it?"

"We don't-"

He takes another step forward, getting right up in the woman's face. "What do you know?!"

"Nothing!!"

"Dean."

He hadn't realized his hands had balled into fists until he almost takes a swing at Cas when he feels his hand on his shoulder. His heart is pounding, but he meets his friend's eyes and tells himself to calm the hell down. The hand on his shoulder is an anchor, keeping him grounded, and he leans into it slightly. "Cas-"

"I know."

He forces himself to take a deep breath, his hands slowly relaxing, and with a final comforting squeeze, Cas drops his hand from Dean's shoulder. The woman takes the opportunity to grab her suitcase and bolt toward her car, leaving Sam holding her phone.

But Sam doesn't even seem to notice, just looking up to meet Dean's eyes. "What are we gonna do?"

For a moment, he forgets that Sam is a grown ass man, a hell of a hunter, almost as much of a badass as Dean himself. Right then, he's just Dean's little brother, and he's looking to his big brother for guidance.

And Cas. Cas, who had died protecting them both, and whose incredible strength was fading more and more each day.

"We'll go find Bobby," he says, meeting both of their eyes in turn. "We stick with family. We'll make it through this. We always do, right?"

Dean makes a vow to himself. He doesn't know what happened in the rest of the country - he can only assume that if Dallas got hit, then plenty of other places did too.

But it doesn't matter. He's going to keep them safe. No matter what it costs.


	3. Accusation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one wants to talk about it, but they all know Cas is falling.

The world has really gone to hell since the bombs went off, Dean muses as he dodges a machete that's suddenly swinging toward his face.

Pretty much literally, in Dean's opinion anyway. The death toll, the food shortages, the lack of power, and the fact that nobody had any goddamn clue what was going on or what to do next. And now, to make things even _better_ , most of the monsters figured out that everybody was more helpless than usual and were taking advantage of the situation, as he could see firsthand.

The bastards had gotten less subtle since the bombs went off, and while looking for a gas station that still worked, the three of them had stumbled on a small town that a nest of vampires had managed to completely take over.

Of course, when he says "stumbled on," he does mean that literally. The warehouse is full of vamps and at least a couple dozen hostages, tied up or locked into offices or bleeding out on the floor.

"Watch it, Sammy!"

Sam turns around just in time to block the fist swinging at him, but he's forced backwards a step and nearly trips over the corpse of a vampire he'd taken out earlier, his arms flailing as he attempts to keep his balance.

Dean wants to rush over and help, but there are suddenly two vamps trying to corner him and he slashes out at them, his blade flashing in the light. He swings a little wide and one of them takes the opening to kick his legs out from under him, and he falls hard onto the concrete with an "oof!"

But suddenly Cas is there, yanking one vamp's head backward and burning him out with a hand to his forehead before Dean can even start to fight back. While Cas lets that one drop to the floor, the other is distracted by the angel, and Dean lunges up at it knife-first.

The vamp manages to dodge, but Cas moves into flanking position, trying to grab its forehead while Dean continues to press the advantage.

Shrill screams ring out from elsewhere in the warehouse, and Cas jerks like he's been struck, turning and racing in the direction they'd come from without a second thought.

"Wait, goddammit!" Dean yells, but Cas doesn't even glance backwards as he runs through the open door and disappears around the corner.

Dean swears under his breath and focuses on the monster in front of him, maneuvering the vamp so he could see Sam dealing with a fight of his own. A lucky stab and a shove, and the vamp staggers, and Dean holds his weapon with both hands and swings it like a baseball bat, lopping his head clean off.

He doesn't let himself pause even for a moment before rushing off to Sam's aid, shoving the vamp against the wall and holding her still enough that Sam was able to take her head off.

"You okay?" Sam asks, panting slightly while blood drips down his knife into a puddle onto the floor. Dean nods, winded as well. "Where's Cas?"

"He heard some of the hostages and ran off like an idiot." He jerks his thumb toward the door and sprints off in the direction he'd seen Cas run.

Sam is hard on his heels, loping along after him. "Little risky, letting him go off by himself, don't you think?"

"I don't _let_  Cas do anything," he snaps, then relents. "But yeah. He seem a little... off, to you lately?"

"Yeah." Sam catches his eyes for a brief moment. It's the closest they've gotten to discussing the elephant in the room: Cas is falling, and neither of them have been brave enough to bring up the subject. "Yeah, he does. He talk to you about it?"

Dean snorts. "Course not. Why would he?"

Sam raises his eyebrows, giving him one of those looks he's never quite learned to decipher, and he doesn't have time to ask before they're forced to skid to a stop as the hallway opens up to three branching paths, but another shriek leads them off to the left.

They charge through a door near the end of the hall that had nearly been blown off its hinges just in time to see Cas burning up another vamp while three more leap in to attack while he's busy finishing their ally off.

"Cas!" He can't help yelling for him, but he immediately regrets it when Cas looks up, distracted. One of the vamps charges in, landing a solid right hook to his jaw before kicking him in the stomach, sending him flying backwards into a cement wall.

Castiel drops to the floor bonelessly, his head thunking against the concrete with a painful cracking sound. He notices Sam wince in sympathy even as Dean's vision goes red and he leaps toward the vamp who'd thrown Cas aside like a rag doll.

He doesn't quite remember the rest of the fight, because the next thing he knows, Sam is herding the terrified survivors out of the building, Dean has an unconscious Cas's arm thrown over his shoulder, and they're all covered in blood. Most of it's from the vampires, he assumes, but Cas is bleeding from the head, either from hitting the wall or the floor, Dean isn't sure.

"Where are we going?" one man asks, carrying a little girl who can't be more than five.

Sam shakes his head as Dean tries to put Cas in the back of the car as gently as possible. "I don't know what to tell you."

"But... but you saved us," he says, almost desperately. Sam turns to head for the car, but the man grabs his arm. "What are we supposed to do?"

Sam just meets his eyes for a long moment, not saying a word, until the man drops his hand and Sam continues to the car, sliding into the driver's seat with a clenched jaw and dark look. Dean fastens Cas's seatbelt, knowing it must hurt and muttering an apology - getting kicked into a wall definitely broke some ribs, at least - then jogs to the other side of the car to slide into the back seat next to him, grabbing an old t-shirt to put pressure on Cas's head wound.

He's not quite sure how fast Sam drives. He doesn't even look up from Cas's pale face, all his concentration on keeping the shirt in place. "Don't even think about it," he mutters, hoping Sam can't hear. "Can't believe what a goddamn idiot you are, running off alone and almost getting yourself killed. Couldn't've waited thirty damn seconds for me?" Cas doesn't respond, just lays there, too quiet and still, blood soaking the makeshift bandage.

Before he knows it, they're back at the abandoned motel and Sam is helping him carry Cas into the room they'd lockpicked their way into earlier while Dean struggles to keep pressure on the wound.

Cas finally starts to wake up as they're setting him down on the bed. He grabs Dean's arm, his fingers digging into his bicep, his blue eyes wide and eyebrows furrowing as Dean sits down on the bed next to him. "Where...?"

"Back at the motel." Dean puts his free hand on Cas' shoulder as he struggles to sit up, keeping him still. "Hey, chill for a minute, okay? You took a beating back there."

Sam catches his eyes. "I'm gonna go find some food, maybe see if there are any stores that haven't been totally cleaned out." His gaze flashes down to Dean's hand on Cas's shoulder for a split second, and Dean scowls and snatches his hand away like he'd been burned. "I'll be back in a while."

Dean attempts to communicate 'you're a goddamn 13 year old girl and if you're trying to give us _alone time_  I will shave off your eyebrows' in one look. Sam pointedly ignores him and scurries outside as quickly as possible, slamming the door behind him. Dean just sighs and returns his attention to Cas, who's still trying to get up to speed.

"The vampires-"

"-are dead. Sam and I cleaned up the ones you didn't handle." He gives him his best intimidating look. "Just relax, okay?"

Cas finally nods and does as he's told, leaning back against the pillows with a wince. "My head-" He reaches back instinctively to investigate the wound, but Dean grabs his hand before he can make things worse. "What happened?"

"You got thrown into a wall," he says bluntly. "Busted your head up pretty bad. Ribs too, probably. Can you patch yourself up?"

Cas looks thoughtful for a moment, eyes crinkling in the corners, before he shakes his head slightly.

"God _dammit_ , Cas," he swears, unable to stop himself. Cas looks taken aback, even hurt, and Dean grumbles and switches which hand is holding the t-shirt to Cas's head. He leans over to dig around in his duffel bag for a shirt that isn't totally soaked in blood, which gives him a moment of reprieve to gather his thoughts. "I know you don't want to talk about it, and god knows I understand that, but it's time to sack up and deal with this, okay?"

Cas purses his lips and remains silent.

"You're falling, Cas." He didn't intend for it to sound like an accusation, but once the words are out of his mouth, he feels a surge of guilt. His friend winces, looking away, but he doesn't deny anything. "Why didn't you say anything, man?"

Now Cas just looks annoyed. "It's my business. I can-"

"-take care of yourself, yeah, I know," he snaps. "But now that you're taking stupid risks and almost getting yourself killed, it's _my_  business too. You're not invincible anymore, and you don't have the mojo to take on a bunch of bad guys alone."

Cas just looks away.

"We're friends, Cas. I'm- Sam and I aren't gonna ditch you just 'cause your batteries are running low." He frowns, trying to catch his eyes, but Cas stubbornly refuses to look back at him. "You really think I'd leave you behind?"

"Your life is difficult enough already. I have no desire to make things worse."

"Ignoring the problem doesn't make it go away. Trust me." Dean sighs, shakes his head. "Just- We've lost enough friends," he says, his voice rougher than he expects, and Cas finally turns back to meet his eyes. "I'm not losing you just because you didn't feel like asking for help, okay? So just- stop being a dumbass so you don't get yourself killed."

Cas snorts at this. "I hardly consider what I did to be 'dumbass,'" he says, making those obnoxious little air quotes, "but I understand."

There's a long, silent moment where they simply look at each other, and Dean shifts in place on the bed, suddenly aware of how close they're sitting. Stretching out on the bed beside him, Cas is like a furnace, heating up the stuffy motel room, and he feels sweat prickle on the back of his neck.

"Do you-" He stops himself, clears his throat. "Think you can deal with this 'til you've got the juice to heal yourself?" he asks, nodding toward the hand still putting pressure on his head wound.

Cas hesitates, but starts to reach up to take over the job.

But something prompts Dean to continue. "I mean- it's fine. If you need some help, I mean. Not a big deal. You should probably get some sleep anyway, so you can recharge, right?"

The corners of Cas's lips quirk in a small smile, and he folds his hands over his stomach. "Thank you. I appreciate it."

"No problem," he murmurs. He tries not to watch Cas's eyes slowly close as he drifts off to sleep, but he can't help feeling oddly relaxed as he sits there listening to his friend's quiet, even breathing.

And though Sam surely notices the fact that Dean dozed off next to Cas, he doesn't say a word about it the next morning, and the two of them pretend not to see his pleased little smile.


	4. Restless

Cas must be in worse shape, angel powers-wise, than even Dean and his pessimism had figured he'd be.

And to make things worse, the damage from getting thrown into that wall is more severe than he expected. The head injury's the worst thing, but at least Cas manages to heal that the morning after they drag him back to the hotel. However, he's still left with several cracked ribs, a broken collarbone, and a fractured elbow. As none of these are fun to deal with while spending entire days in a car, much less sleeping in one, they decide to set up in the abandoned motel they'd broken into until Cas can recover enough of his mojo to heal up a little better.

Normally this wouldn't be too much of a hassle. Dean doesn't mind staying in one place for a little while - it's a good chance to rest up, especially with how little sleep he usually gets when they're on a hunt.

But of course things are worse than they first appear. _Story of my life,_  Dean thinks, leaning against the wall of the motel room.

Because of the sticky summer heat and the lack of power - which meant no air conditioning - Dean had talked Cas into wearing a t-shirt. He couldn't quite get used to seeing Cas out of of that ridiculous trenchcoat/jacket combo, but since his friend was becoming more human by the day, wearing that stuff would probably give him heatstroke or something.

He regretted offering his clothes almost immediately, since Cas's freakin' head injury had covered one of Dean's favorite shirts in blood.

He folds his arms over his chest and scowls at the sulking angel sitting on the bed in front of him, drumming his fingers on one arm. They'd been in the motel room for two full days now, and Dean was feeling restless and itching to get moving again. Of course, he wasn't about to tell Cas this, since he was still a goddamn mess.

"I assure you, I am _fine_ ," Cas insists, attempting to pull the shirt off, but he hisses in pain and clutches at his elbow.

Dean can't help a grin. "You're such a shitty liar."

"You might recall that I have little practical experience," Cas admits, his voice muffled as he struggles again with the shirt.

He does his best not to look at Cas's bare chest, but the purple bruises draw his eye like a magnet and it's all he can do to tear his gaze away. "Your angel buddies were all pretty good at it. Startin' to think you're a little slow."

"Are you saying you'd prefer if I lied to you more often?" There's a twinkle of mischief in his eyes, and the corners of his mouth quirk upwards like he's trying not to smile.

"Depends on what you're lying about."

Cas finally manages to get the shirt over his head at last and sighs in relief, and Dean holds out his hand to take it from him. "So if I told you that you shouldn't be forced to stop here on my account and that I am perfectly capable of handling a car ride-"

"I'd tell you to shut the hell up," he replies, balling the shirt up and shoving it into a bag with the rest of the dirty laundry. "Now sit your ass down and get some rest."

Sam pokes his head around the corner from the bathroom. "Dean, if you're done flirting, I've got some more laundry in here for you."

"Got all your bras and panties together, Samantha?" he shoots back, grateful for the distraction. No air conditioning, no TV, no driving around town ("we can't just fill up the car at gas stations anymore, Dean! you're not wasting it driving in circles!"), no laptop because there was no charging it. He was so bored, in fact, that he'd actually volunteered to go do their laundry _by hand_. Sam just rolls his eyes and chucks a duffel full of clothes at him the moment he's in sight of the bathroom.

Dean lugs the lot of it outside, heading for the laundry room they'd found earlier. None of the machines worked, of course, but the water was still running, and he drops the bags on the ground beside a huge sink and starting the water before pulling the shirt off his back and tossing it in with the rest.

It's time-consuming work, but Dean finds that he doesn't mind it. He props open the door, and even though the breeze is warm and doesn't do much to cool the sweat that drips down his face and into his eyes, he loses himself in the mindless task before him. He's had years of experience getting blood out of clothes, and he scrubs away, letting his mind go blank, allowing himself a couple hours to forget about the bombs, the death toll, the end of the world.

By the time he's finished washing, he's tired and his fingers are pruny, and he lugs the lot of it out to the clotheslines he'd spied behind the motel.

A few minutes in, Sam joins him, offering a beer, which Dean accepts and clinks to Sam's before taking a drink. It's warm, and he pulls a face. "I can't believe I'll be drinking warm beer the rest of my life. The apocalypse _sucks_."

Sam laughs. "If that's the worst part, I think we'll make it out okay."

They set their beers on a nearby picnic table and hang up the rest of the clothes in a comfortable silence as the sun slowly sinks below the horizon, giving them a reprieve from the nearly intolerable heat of the day. Once they finish, they grab their beers and wander out to a bench near the road to sit and cool off a bit.

"How's Cas?" Dean asks, twisting his head to pop his neck with a satisfying crack.

"Passed out on the bed when I left."

"Good, maybe we can actually get the hell out of here tomorrow."

Sam side-eyes him. "What's the rush?"

"What, you _don't_  want to leave?"

"No. I mean, yeah, I do, but..." Sam motions toward the the silent town. For all Dean doesn't mind the quiet, this empty world is downright spooky. "Hurrying to Bobby's isn't gonna make a difference, Dean. He doesn't have a book of lore with all the answers on how to make this better. We can't... There's no fixing this."

"I know." And he does, even if he prefers not to think about it. "We can't even call him, Sammy. We don't even know if he's..."

"He's fine." He sounds certain of this, though Dean knows him well enough to pick out the worried little tremor in his voice.

"Yeah, I'm sure he is." He takes another long swig of his miserably warm beer. "But when shit like this happens, you get your family and you stick together until things get back to normal."

They both know that there's never going to be another 'normal' after this; that their lives, the lives of everyone on earth, have been irrevocably altered. But Sam just nods, and they sit together in silence, watching the last rays of light disappear over the horizon, leaving them alone in the dark.


	5. Snowflake

"Dean. Wake up."

He'd managed to doze off in the passenger seat, but at Sam's words, his eyes shoot open and he's instantly got a hand on his gun, sitting up straight. "What?"

Sam points at the massive stormclouds gathering on the horizon, far off to the west, for now. "We need to get inside."

He snorts, turning over and shutting his eyes again. "It's just a storm. Doesn't even look that bad. What's the big deal?"

"And it's coming out of Denver," he replies. Dean's forced to look over his shoulder, bleary-eyed and scowling when he sees Sam giving him a look like that explanation should clear everything right up.

Of course it doesn't. "And?" 

Sam sighs. "Sometimes I wonder how we're related. We don't want to be caught in that storm, Dean. That storm is probably everything that's left of Denver. Think about all the radiation from the bomb."

 "Shit."

 "Yeah."

Dean turns to look in the back seat, where Cas is pulling open a map. "There's a small town nearby," he says, tracing his finger along the line of the highway. "We can find shelter there." 

Sam presses his foot a little harder on the gas pedal. He looks relaxed enough, but Dean can see the signs of tension - his knuckles are white on the steering wheel and his eyes keep flicking toward the storm, which is approaching much faster than he's comfortable with.

Once they make it to town, Sam slows enough that they can scan the area for any sign of people. For the first time in recent memory, they've caught a lucky break, and though there are broken windows and doors hanging ajar along main street, this town seems to be in pretty good shape.

Dean rolls down his window when they pass a woman with two dark-haired toddlers holding her hands. "'Scuse me, ma'am," he calls out. 

The woman jumps at the sound of his voice and immediately pushes the girls behind her, though both of them peek out from behind her legs and peer up at him with huge brown eyes. "What do you want?"

He holds up his hands. "We're not looking for trouble. Just trying to find someplace to hide out from the storm." 

She doesn't relax at all, but she does relent a bit and point toward the next corner. "Take a right there, head down two blocks to the elementary school." She rushes off without another word, pulling her children behind her.

They park Baby right out front. "Try not to freak anybody out," Sam advises before they walk through the door. Dean would have felt hurt - or pretended to, anyway - but Sam looks pointedly at Cas as well. "No demon stuff, okay?"

Cas gives him a look that Dean thinks of as his 'I'm An Angel Of The Lord How Dare You Question My Knowledge Of How To Act Normally Around Humans' glare. "I'm perfectly aware of-"

Dean rolls his eyes and tunes them out, pushing past them both into the building, which he immediately sees is almost full to bursting with people. The hallways are bustling - some volunteers hurry to tape plastic sheeting over every window and door, while others carry food and supplies. Dean chooses the latter category to follow, trusting that Cas and Sam are right behind him.

 They find themselves in the school's decent-sized gymnasium, where long cafeteria tables have been set up over half the space, with the rest reserved for blankets and pillows on the floor, where families have set up little camps. People are everywhere, and Dean worries that there won't be enough space for them, but an older man who looks to be in charge of everything approaches and gives them an appraising look before sniffing disapprovingly and pointing towards benches near the windows.

There isn't a lot of space, and perhaps twenty elementary school children are taking up most of the benches and tables. The group comes complete with a cute young teacher who instantly has eyes only for Sam, telling one of her students to scoot down and make space for him, while Dean and Cas stand back near the windows and observe.

 Sam is nothing but gracious, of course, thanking the teacher before sitting down next to a little boy.

"Are you a giant?" the boy asks, staring up at him with huge eyes.

Dean laughs at this, folding his arms over his chest and rocking back on his heels. Cas actually gives him a look of disapproval, but Sam has learned that in cases like this, it's best to just ignore his brother. 

"No, I'm just really tall," he replies with a smile. "What's your name?"

The boy is suddenly shy, ducking his head and focusing on the craft project in front of him as intently as a five year old can. "James."

"It's nice to meet you, James. I'm Sam." He peers over the little boy's arms. "What're you working on?"

 This distracts him from his shyness, and James holds up a piece of paper folded into a triangle. "Miss Larsen says next week is Christmas in July! We're making snowmen and presents and ornaments and-"

James rambles on and Sam nods his understanding, smiling and chatting away with the child like it's the most natural thing in the world.

And Dean realizes, maybe it is, for Sam.

Castiel's mind is running on the same lines. "He seems happy."

And he does, Dean admits with a nod. Miss Larsen has joined the pair, helping James cut away at the paper with his little plastic scissors while Sam sits nearby and encourages him.

"He always wanted this," Dean speaks before he realizes what he's saying, and Cas gives him one of those curious little head tilts. "A normal life. He never wanted to be- in the family business. He was gonna settle down. He had a girl. Then... you know the rest."

Cas just nods slowly, and Dean wonders whether it's because he understands or because he knew that story already. Cas has never said how much he knows about their lives before he pulled Dean out of hell, but Dean's never been one for sharing, and Cas is too polite to pry.

"It isn't too late," Cas says slowly.

"For what?"

"A- 'normal life.' A family." He meets Dean's eyes, and Dean feels a twisting in his stomach that he knows has nothing to do with Sam.

"After everything we've- he's been through? And now, with the freakin' apocalypse outside?" His voice drips skepticism, and he motions toward the windows, where he can see the wind whipping trash and debris everywhere, the clouds churning above them. There's no normalcy for them, not after everything they've been through. Dean knows that firsthand.

Cas's gaze is nothing if not intense, but right now his blue eyes have locked onto Dean's and he's gazing at him like he'll never look at anything else. "It's never too late," he says again, and Dean is frozen in place, without a clue how to answer.

"Look! It's snowing!" James's voice gets Cas's attention, and Dean lets himself breathe again once that gaze is broken and they all look out the window, James racing over to press his face against the sheets of plastic that cover the glass, the paper snowflake he'd been cutting out clutched tightly in his hand.

And sure enough, little flakes are flying through the air, hitting the window and even starting to gather against the cracks, just like a good snow should. But it's July, and the little gray flakes are not snow. 

James is bouncing up and down with excitement, but Miss Larsen pulls him away from the window and back to the table, distracting him with the promise of more crafts. She glances at the three of them, but turns her face away.

 Sam just steps up to stand on Cas's other side, and the three of them look on as the ashes of Denver pile up on the windowsill. 


	6. Haze

Getting across the country has gotten a lot tougher since the bombs went off.

And not even because of the destruction and rubble and crap, though that's a big factor too.

For one, just filling up the tank is a hell of a challenge. They mainly keep to the side roads, which at least takes them through towns that are abandoned more often than not, but even then, they have trouble finding a pump that works or actually has gas left. On one occasion, when Baby's fuel tank had gone completely dry, Dean had hotwired an abandoned truck with an eighth of a tank left and gone on the hunt for fuel. Even then, he had to walk back with a gas tank in each hand. 

But lately, they've had the opposite problem. They'd been forced to detour out to the west - not the most direct route to Sioux Falls, but with the bombs and the chaos, they didn't have a choice. 

Unfortunately, this had put them within a couple hours of Colorado Springs, and for the last six hours, all the roads had been totally clogged up by abandoned cars, some of them so expensive that Dean would have been tempted to grab them, had he not been faithful to Baby.

Siphoning gas from them lessened their fuel troubles, but of course this convenience didn't come without a cost, and they've been stuck on the shoulder and in the median, forced to drive slow so they didn't wreck the Impala on bushes or trees or rocks or ditches that came out of freakin' nowhere.

"Where were they even _going_?" Dean snaps, glaring at the cars as if waiting for an answer. He's hot and irritable, and the Impala's black paint had absorbed the heat of the summer sun, turning the car into their own personal oven. They're driving so slowly that there's no breeze, even with the windows open, and he can see a blurry haze of heat rising off the asphalt of the road beside them. 

"Who knows," Sam replies diplomatically from the back seat, not even bothering to look up from his book. Dean shudders at the thought of reading in the car - he's never been able to do it without feeling sick. "I guess they just wanted out. Maybe they thought they'd be the next ones hit."

"It's more likely they were afraid and ran without thinking." Cas hasn't spoken up in a few hours, instead just staring out at the cars and destruction like it's the most fascinating thing in the world, his lips pursed and hands resting on his knees.

But it's just a front, and Dean can see how nervous Cas really is. The gray t-shirt he'd borrowed from Sam is dark with sweat, and between the heat and the bombs and falling, he knows Cas's newly-human body is unused to _feeling_ so much, physical or otherwise.

Sweat drips down Cas's forehead and he blinks, his long lashes shining, trying to keep the sweat out of his eyes. Dean feels his mouth go dry and immediately blames the heat.

Sam is nodding in the backseat. "Fight or flight."

"Yeah," Dean says, though it takes him a long moment to remember what they were talking about. "But why run if you've got no place to go?"

"And why stay in the city when it's safer to leave?" Sam counters, meeting his eyes through the rearview mirror.

Dean rolls his eyes. "Look around, man. Who knows what happened to all these people? Kind of a frying pan/fire situation."

"At least they're out of the city. Think about it, Dean. All those people stuck in one place, with no cell phones or power or anything? You know there's gonna be looting and riots, if there aren't already."

"Yeah, coming out here and hiding in a FEMA camp will be way better." Dean snorts. The number of cars on the road has eased up slightly, and Dean carefully pulls onto the shoulder, happy to be back on the pavement. He's able to pick up a little speed, and the breeze through the windows cools some of the sweat on his forehead but doesn't make him any less cranky. "People can dream all they want about some government-run paradise with power and clean water and all the comforts of home, but..." Hell, if Dean's being honest, he's had the same daydream more than a few times. "But you really think living in a friggen' refugee camp would be better than staying at home? At least with a roof and four walls, you can defend yourself."

"Yeah, until you run out of supplies and get killed looking for more."

"I'd rather die there than crammed into pens like cattle!" 

"Stop."

They both turn to stare at Cas, who is staring straight ahead, his right hand gripping the car door and his left digging into the seat.

"What's wrong?"

"I just need-" he starts, then looks out the window. "I want to- walk," he finishes lamely.

Dean understands immediately, pulling the car to a stop. "Hey, that's fine. Let's take a break, sound good Sammy?" He glances in the back seat and meets Sam's eyes, raising his eyebrows in a silent question. _You gonna talk to him?_

"Yeah, that'd be good. Could stand to stretch my legs." A frown in reply. _Dude, it's your job, he's your angel, I only like talking about feelings when I can guilt you into it, blah blah blah_.

Dean's fluent in Sam's looks, so he's pretty sure that's what he was trying to say there.

Cas is out of the car and walking quick down the road the moment they stop, and Dean glares at his brother before they both get out, but Sam hangs back, leaving Dean to follow.

His feet are practically burning through his shoes on the hot pavement as he stops next to his friend, and he shifts from foot to foot hoping for a little relief. "Hey, you okay?"

Cas looks... frazzled. His hair is sticking up at odd angles, his shirt doesn't fit right, he's sweaty, and he's pacing across the blacktop like he can't stay still. "How do you stand it?" he asks, looking up to meet Dean's eyes with an intensity that startles him, every time.

He wants to look away, but he always feels like he'd be losing some kind of competition if he did, so he holds his gaze. "Stand what?"

"Not knowing anything."

Dean grins. "Thanks, pal. Good to know the GED don't count for much upstairs."

Cas doesn't even seem to hear him. "You don't know what to do. What's happened to the rest of the world. If you'll even survive. You and Sam talk as if the next moment could be your last. Your world is dying and you argue about the ways in which the rest of humanity is killing each other. How do you stay so calm?" He says this in a rush, with a single exhale, and he runs a hand through his already messy hair, turning to start pacing again. 

Dean can't help a breathy laugh at this, and Cas fixes him with another unreadable stare. "Sorry. It's just- you've always been the calm one. Shoe's on the other foot."

"What shoe?"

"Never mind. What's this about, Cas?"

He knows, of course - he's not quite as stupid as he acts - but he wants Cas to say it.

But he doesn't respond, just looks back toward the city, the endless line of cars, an uncountable number of people who could be dead or dying at this very moment. "Why did I survive?" he finally asks. "There's little I can do to help anyone now. Even to you, I can be a hindrance. So what is my purpose?"

"Who says you need one?" Dean counters, and Cas just fixes him with a level stare.

"Dean, I am- I was an angel. I was created for a purpose. And now..." He trails off, looks down at the ground, scuffs his feet on the hot asphalt. 

"Living," Dean says. "That's your purpose."

"That isn't enough."

"It's all the rest of us do." He huffs a laugh and looks away, wishing he knew what to say, how to make this better. He's not smart like Sammy, doesn't know how to talk and actually have it fix something. "There's not some secret I'm not letting you in on, Cas. There's no big plan, nothing you're supposed to do or be or whatever. We're all just making it up as we go along." He shrugs and meets Cas's eyes again. "It's human."

He doesn't smile, but the answer gives him pause, and he nods thoughtfully. "I- will consider this."

Dean jerks his thumb back toward the car. "You ready to go?" Cas nods, and Dean spreads his hands. "And hey, now that we're back on the road, I thought you might want to practice driving."

Dean can't help smiling broadly at the look of utter surprise on his friend's face. "Are you certain?"

"Absolutely." He claps him on the shoulder and smiles. "Let's get moving."


	7. Formal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas needs a wardrobe upgrade.

"Seriously, Cas, aren't you dyin'?"

Cas stares at him from the passenger seat and levels that thousand yard stare at Dean. His hair is blowing in the breeze from the open windows, but his face is still flushed from the heat. "Not that I'm aware of."

"I mean with all the- the coat and everything," Dean says, motioning toward his own body. Dean's wearing jeans and a t-shirt that's been worn thin from too many washes and he's _still_  feeling warm. Sam has actually stripped his shirt off and is using it as a pillow in the back, one arm thrown over his eyes to shield them from the sun as he dozes, his long legs bent and crammed behind Cas's chair in a way Dean knows can't be comfortable.

Meanwhile, Cas is looking formal as hell in his trenchcoat and suit jacket and even his freakin' _tie_  still on, sitting with his hands folded on his lap. He's got so many layers on that Dean is overheating just looking at him. "It's summer, dude. You're gonna get heatstroke or something."

"It is rather warm," Cas admits, looking down at himself with a frown. "These are all the clothes I have."

"You can keep borrowing my shirts, it's really not a big deal." Dean shrugs like it doesn't matter either way, but if he's being honest, he kind of enjoys seeing Cas in his clothes, who always looks like he doesn't quite know what to do with himself when he's not wearing at least three layers. "Or they not good enough for you?"

"Of course they are, Dean. I just didn't want to inconvenience you."

"Dude, relax, I was joking." He drums his hands on the steering wheel for a moment, eyeing a sign along the side of the road, and smiles. "Got an idea."

Cas eyes him skeptically. "Should I be concerned?"

Dean laughs. "It's a good one, I promise."

Twenty minutes later, Dean throws a shoe at Sam to wake him up before they step out of the car in front of a strip mall. It's yet another evacuated town. Dean's memorized a lot of different spray painted symbols, and he's quickly becoming familiar with the FEMA-painted ones ones that cover every door in some towns they pass through.

"What the hell, Dean?" Sam swears, waking up with a start and a glare. He pulls his shirt on and follows them out of the car, then looks around, pushing his hair out of his eyes. "What're we doing here?"

"Cas," Dean says, crossing his arms over his chest and smiling, "is finally ditching the trenchcoat."

This is greeted with less enthusiasm than he expected, as Sam rolls his eyes and pushes past him toward the store, grabbing the angel by the elbow as he goes. "Let's get this over with."

Cas looks over his shoulder at Dean as Sam drags him along behind him. "This was your idea," he says, giving Dean a significant look, and Dean grins and follows along.

The place doesn't look _looted_ , exactly. All the windows are intact - well, they are until Dean breaks one so they can unlock the door - but the stock is seriously depleted.

"Must've taken a lot of it with them when they left," Sam says, stepping over a pile of empty hangers.

"Not much selection," Dean agrees. "See anything you like, Cas?"

Cas is standing near the door and just shrugs. "I'm sure any of these would serve the same purpose."

"That's not- that isn't the point, man." He frowns, trying to come up with a way to explain shopping to someone who's worn the same suit for as long as Dean's known him. "It's not about just wearing something. It's about wearing something that you like. Something that makes you feel good."

"Is this why you always wear that leather jacket?"

Sam snorts a laugh. "No, he just thinks it makes him look hot."

"Whatever, man. The chicks love it. You're just jealous." Dean steps over to the shelves, where pairs of jeans are in messy stacks. "C'mere, I'll help. What size do you wear?" Cas gives him a blank stare and Dean laughs. "Guess I should've expected that. Sammy, wanna go find him some shirts?" A grunt of assent, and he spends a few minutes rifling through the shelves until he finds a couple pairs that look like they might be around Cas's size, and he holds one up with an appraising eye. "Lose the coat and give these a shot."

Sam joins them with a selection of t-shirts in a few different colors, and without a moment's hesitation, Cas pulls the trenchcoat and suit jacket off, handing them to Sam before loosening his tie and pulling it over his head with the knot still intact. He unbuttons his shirt and takes off his belt with startling efficiency before starting to unbutton his pants, and Dean, feeling weirdly self-conscious, tries to find something else to look at.

"Dean."

He forces himself to look back, and Castiel is standing there in nothing but his boxers, completely unfazed, with one hand outstretched.

"The pants, please."

"Oh. Uh. Yeah, sorry." There's another snicker from Sam, and Dean shoves a pair toward Cas before turning away under the pretense of looking for more, firmly ignoring his brother.

"Well you look more comfortable already. It all fit okay?"

"I suppose," he says, but he sounds unsure.

"As long as you can breathe and your pants aren't gonna fall off, I think you're good." Sam sounds like he's trying not to laugh, and Dean can't resist looking over.

Cas looks... like a guy. Like if he passed him on the street, he wouldn't look twice. Well, if he's being honest, he still might. His jeans are a little oversized, sitting low on his slim hips, and he's wearing a dark blue t-shirt that brings out his eyes and Dean did _not_  just think that. Sam and his _feelings_  are turning him into such a freakin' girl.

He swallows, manages to find his voice again. "Yeah, looks good, Cas. Less 'job interview' and more 'normal human being.'"

He tries to look down at himself, craning his neck, and Dean smiles. "Don't hurt yourself, buddy. That's what they've got mirrors around for."

There's one nearby, and he leads him over, Sam staying where he is and just smiling as Cas examines his reflection, and after a moment, he smiles and nods slightly. "These will do. Though..."  
He glances around the picked-over selection in the store. "I don't think there are quite enough shirts for me to go very long without washing them."

Dean shrugs. "Yeah. It's not a big deal, we can find another store."

"Of course. And, perhaps, until then, I can borrow a few of yours." He meets Dean's eyes, his eyes dark, and raises his eyebrows in a silent question. "If it's all right."

Dean smiles. "Yeah, Cas," he says, nodding slowly. "That's- that's all right."

"Thank you."

"Anytime."


	9. Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean decides they need a break from the apocalypse.

Dean's never been good at resisting temptation.

So when the sign on the side of the road tells him to "visit beautiful Green Lake, next exit!", even though he's not usually a fan of following orders, Dean doesn't consider doing anything else.

The summer has been almost unbearably hot, the days stretching on and the sun bearing down without a moment's relief. Sam points out that they should be grateful it's not raining - who knows how much radiation could be stored in the clouds and fall on them? - but Dean finds it a challenge to think that way when he's laying on his back in another airless motel room, completely unable to sleep.

Apparently Green Lake isn't much of a tourist attraction, as the road changes from smooth asphalt to cracked pavement to just rock-covered dirt, and the grinding of the Impala's wheels on the stones as they bump along is finally enough to wake Sam and Cas, who had probably hoped to sleep through the worst of the afternoon heat.

"Rise and shine, campers!"

Sam groans, stretching his arms in the back seat and popping a few joints loud enough for Dean to hear. "Where are we?"  
"'Scenic Green Lake,' according to the sign," Cas says, managing to read the chipping and faded paint on the wooden sign near the parking lot. "It's 'a local treasure' and 'not to be missed.'"

Dean grins and pulls into a spot that provides a few of the lake in the utterly deserted parking lot, and even he has to admit that it's not much, but it's water and it's definitely cooler than being cooped up in the car.

"I think scenic is kind of a stretch," Sam points out, leaning forward to look out over the dash. "What're we doing here, Dean?"

"What else? Going for a swim. It's hot, I'm sick of driving, and you both stink."

"Sweating is the body's natural response to-"

"Cas. Seriously?"

"Ah... A swim sounds nice?"

"That's what I thought."

Sam grins, and without another word opens the door and books it toward the water, pulling his shirt off and throwing it aside as he runs, pausing just long enough to pull off his shoes and jeans before leaping in with a huge splash. Cas raises an eyebrow at Dean, and he smiles and shoos him. "Go for it. I'm gonna grab some beers."

The black metal of the Impala is hot enough to fry an egg on, and he hisses as he opens the trunk and tries to touch it as little as possible. The beers have been cooking for a day or two, but he grabs a six pack with each hand, knocking the trunk closed with his elbow, and heads down to the beach.

He can see Sam floating in the water on his back, his arms out to his sides and long legs stretched out, but Dean's eyes, as usual, are drawn to Cas. He's standing on the shore, his shoes thrown behind him, close enough for the water to lap at his bare feet and soak the bottoms of his jeans as he slowly sinks into the sand. His sweaty t-shirt is sticking to his skin, but his eyes are closed and there's a smile on his face as the breeze ruffles his already messy hair.

Dean's heart thumps painfully in his chest and he almost trips at the sight, and his fingers dig painfully into the handles as he grips the cases of beer a little tighter. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm down, but he can't help flashing back to that moment - Cas standing on the shore in his bloody trenchcoat, possessed, covered in leviathan ectoplasm, vessel falling apart, before walking into the lake to die.

So much has changed since then, but the visual is similar enough that Dean has to stop himself from racing over to drag him away from the water. He is not letting Cas die. He won't lose anyone else he cares about. Not again.

As if sensing his thoughts, Cas turns around, his eyes catching Dean's instantly. "Are you all right?"

Not for the first time, Dean wonders how much Cas how much power Cas still has. His angel mojo has been fading away more quickly than Dean had expected, but he must have some - Cas can't really know him that well, can't possibly know from a single glance that something's wrong.

"Fine." He forces a smile. "Hottest summer I can remember."

"I wouldn't know," Cas replies, looking down and wiggling his toes in the sand. "The heat never affected me before."

Dean sets the beer down and pulls his shoes off before stepping into the sand next to him. "You do know how to swim, right?"

"In theory."

He laughs. "Not exactly comforting. How about you stay near the shore then, yeah?"

"I appreciate your concern."

Dean can't tell if Cas is being sarcastic, and he's about to ask when Cas starts to pull his shirt off and he completely forgets what he was going to say. Dean's eyes linger as he pulls it up over his head, revealing smooth planes of muscle and pale skin. Their eyes meet for a moment, and Dean realizes that he's been staring only a moment before Cas smiles only slightly and reaches down to start unbuttoning his pants.

Dean finds himself in sudden need of a beer, and hightails it away from there to set the cases on the half-rotted wood of the nearby picnic tables, popping the bottle cap off before taking a long swig. Grimacing at the warmth of the beer, he's still grateful for the alcohol, and braves a look back down at the water.

Cas has made it into the lake and Sam is attempting to teach him to float on his back - without much success, apparently, as Cas's head goes under immediately. He surges back up out of the water, droplets flying from his messy hair, and tries again, Sam motioning for him to straighten his legs, and the change is an instant help.

Cas looks perfectly relaxed, and Dean smiles at the sight as his eyes sweep over him. He can't help but notice all the water droplets shining on his chest, how he wears his boxers low enough that he can see his hipbones, how the wet fabric clings to his skin-

Dean shakes his head. Beer. He definitely needs more beer.

"You coming or what?" Sam calls.

He rolls his eyes and sets the beer on the table, pulling off his own shirt and pants. Nothing worse than swimming in jeans.

"And bring me a beer!"

"Bossy!" he shoots back, but he complies, grabbing his own and another one for Cas and heading down to the water.

It's not as cold as he'd like, but it's still refreshing, and a wonderful change from the horrible dry heat they've been living with for the past month. His muscles start to relax as he steps deeper into the water toward the two of them, and he passes over the beers and takes another few steps out, content to tread water, his limbs moving so slowly that he feels like he could do it forever.

"I gotta say," Sam admits, and he sounds like he'd be annoyed if he wasn't so _comfortable_ , "this was actually a really good idea."

"All my ideas are good," Dean replies, and he glances over toward Cas for a moment, but Cas just takes a sip of his beer and smiles.


End file.
